entered the premises from which he had last emerged at the outbreak of war, a youthful figure attired in the uniform of an officer cadet.
A strange porter sleepily reached for his cap. Coke was being loaded in the yard. On the stairs and in the gas-lit corridors Vit¬torin passed young men with unfamiliar faces. One of them stopped him and politely inquired which department he wanted - Reception was on the second floor. He mumbled an inaudible reply and walked on.
At last he saw a face he knew: that of the managing director's old clerk, who might have been mistaken for a retired judge when playing billiards after office hours in the little coffeehouse across the street. He greeted Vit¬torin like a friend from happier times.
"Why, if it isn't Herr Vit¬torin! What a nice surprise! So you're back already. How long has it been? Let me see, you joined up in 'fifteen - no, 'fourteen, just after the ultimatum. Who would have thought it would end this way? Tragic, really tragic. All those youngsters gone, and for what, I ask you? Still, it's a real pleasure to see you again, Herr Vit¬torin. If you'd come next week you wouldn't have found me here. I'm retiring - yes indeed, retiring after forty years with the firm."
"I expect you're quite glad to be retiring after forty years," said Vit¬torin. "Will you be staying in Vienna?"
"Glad?" the old man replied, continuing to sort and tidy the files on his little desk. "Yes and no. The place just isn't what it was. Nothing but new people and new faces — doctors of law wherever you look, and I can't get all their names into my head. As for staying in Vienna, not me-not with this inflation. I've got no children, so there's nothing to keep me here. I'm going to my wife's relatives in Vorarlberg. You get more for your money in the country. I've got a bit put by — enough for a cottage and maybe a patch of garden as well. Another week, and then it's goodbye to Vienna."
Vit¬torin inquired if the managing director was free. The old clerk shook both his hands again with a touch of emotion before padding off silently into the inner sanctum to announce him.
The managing director gave Vit¬torin a kindly, cordial reception. He congratulated him on his safe return "post tot discrimina rerum", as he eruditely phrased it, and expressed satisfaction that the firm should have regained the services of such a valued employee. Vit¬torin was given no time to reply. They must bestir themselves, said the managing director. Diligence was the order of the day. There was plenty of work to be done now that international trade links had been restored, albeit not in full measure. Austria's economic war wounds must be healed. The new era had brought new problems in its wake; that was why everyone, irrespective of status, must pull his weight. Vit¬torin would be temporarily assigned to the accounts department, his erstwhile post as assistant French-language correspondence clerk having unavoidably and understandably been filled by someone else.
The managing director spoke in a quiet, courteous tone, accompanying his remarks with economical but expressive gestures. Vit¬torin, standing stiffly at attention, stared through him and heard nothing. A peculiar thing had happened to him. He had flirted with an idea: he had tried to imagine -just for a moment, purely to pass the time - that he was standing in another office far away, and that the shadow on the wall was Selyukov's. The notion became too strong to suppress - he couldn't shake it off. Snow was drifting down outside, Grisha polishing the samovar behind the door, the stove flickering fitfully. Books littered the desk, uppermost among them a French novel whose frontispiece depicted a naked woman playing with a tiger cub. Over in Hut 4, his comrades would be waiting for news. Selyukov looked up with his tongue caressing his upper lip and the lamplight falling on his slender, tanned hand. And then:
"Conduct unbecoming to an officer - the French call it
A strange porter sleepily reached for his cap. Coke was being loaded in the yard. On the stairs and in the gas-lit corridors Vit¬torin passed young men with unfamiliar faces. One of them stopped him and politely inquired which department he wanted - Reception was on the second floor. He mumbled an inaudible reply and walked on.
At last he saw a face he knew: that of the managing director's old clerk, who might have been mistaken for a retired judge when playing billiards after office hours in the little coffeehouse across the street. He greeted Vit¬torin like a friend from happier times.
"Why, if it isn't Herr Vit¬torin! What a nice surprise! So you're back already. How long has it been? Let me see, you joined up in 'fifteen - no, 'fourteen, just after the ultimatum. Who would have thought it would end this way? Tragic, really tragic. All those youngsters gone, and for what, I ask you? Still, it's a real pleasure to see you again, Herr Vit¬torin. If you'd come next week you wouldn't have found me here. I'm retiring - yes indeed, retiring after forty years with the firm."
"I expect you're quite glad to be retiring after forty years," said Vit¬torin. "Will you be staying in Vienna?"
"Glad?" the old man replied, continuing to sort and tidy the files on his little desk. "Yes and no. The place just isn't what it was. Nothing but new people and new faces — doctors of law wherever you look, and I can't get all their names into my head. As for staying in Vienna, not me-not with this inflation. I've got no children, so there's nothing to keep me here. I'm going to my wife's relatives in Vorarlberg. You get more for your money in the country. I've got a bit put by — enough for a cottage and maybe a patch of garden as well. Another week, and then it's goodbye to Vienna."
Vit¬torin inquired if the managing director was free. The old clerk shook both his hands again with a touch of emotion before padding off silently into the inner sanctum to announce him.
The managing director gave Vit¬torin a kindly, cordial reception. He congratulated him on his safe return "post tot discrimina rerum", as he eruditely phrased it, and expressed satisfaction that the firm should have regained the services of such a valued employee. Vit¬torin was given no time to reply. They must bestir themselves, said the managing director. Diligence was the order of the day. There was plenty of work to be done now that international trade links had been restored, albeit not in full measure. Austria's economic war wounds must be healed. The new era had brought new problems in its wake; that was why everyone, irrespective of status, must pull his weight. Vit¬torin would be temporarily assigned to the accounts department, his erstwhile post as assistant French-language correspondence clerk having unavoidably and understandably been filled by someone else.
The managing director spoke in a quiet, courteous tone, accompanying his remarks with economical but expressive gestures. Vit¬torin, standing stiffly at attention, stared through him and heard nothing. A peculiar thing had happened to him. He had flirted with an idea: he had tried to imagine -just for a moment, purely to pass the time - that he was standing in another office far away, and that the shadow on the wall was Selyukov's. The notion became too strong to suppress - he couldn't shake it off. Snow was drifting down outside, Grisha polishing the samovar behind the door, the stove flickering fitfully. Books littered the desk, uppermost among them a French novel whose frontispiece depicted a naked woman playing with a tiger cub. Over in Hut 4, his comrades would be waiting for news. Selyukov looked up with his tongue caressing his upper lip and the lamplight falling on his slender, tanned hand. And then:
"Conduct unbecoming to an officer - the French call it
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